


lovers, maybe.

by feralsandgoblin



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Character Death, Choking, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers to Enemies Again, F/M, Hate Sex, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Undercover, Violence as Flirting, dark themes, gaslighting as a sport, hotch is the voice of reason, if we could all just CALM DOWN, is it work life balance if your work is your life??, life of crime, murder as flirting, sexual tension at the olympic level, spencer reid is not nice, things get out of hand, welcome to the dark side
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29995134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralsandgoblin/pseuds/feralsandgoblin
Summary: spencer reid is chasing the white widow, a prolific serial killer known for taking down powerful men. what will he do when the bau requests that he indulges her in her fantasies, in order for them to land their biggest case ever? will he fall for her, destined to be one of the men she's left for dead? if he has to take the shot, will he? or will this fantasy end in his own demise?
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	lovers, maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome! this fic is based off of this tiktok (tinyurl.com/5x2mvsza) and full credit goes to them for coming up with this idea. i had no idea which characters i wanted to use for this story, so i picked spencer.
> 
> feel free to throw a kudos my way or even comment! bye!

"If you have the shot, Spence, you have to take it."

* * *

Spencer Reid was a logical person, always had been, always will be. Growing up like he did, with a mother like his, he couldn’t indulge in fantasies about what was or what could’ve been. He needed to be _here,_ in the real world, where he could protect himself. Where he could protect _her_. But lately, the lines between real and pretend were fading more and more.

It started with a phone call. He should’ve known better, he thinks now, nobody calls his house phone – because nobody knows he has a house phone – much less at this hour. When he answered, there was silence. Spencer went through the motions of asking who it was and why they were calling, but all he got in reply was tapping. Smooth, timed, tapping.

It took him all of ten seconds to realize it was Morse Code, and even that minor lapse in judgement weighed on him. He should’ve known.

The message was parsed out rather quickly, Spencer’s hasty scribbling the only sound in his dimly lit, crowded apartment, before he understood.

“Hello Doctor,” it read, “would you like to play a game?”

He was at the office within the hour.

* * *

“She calls herself the White Widow,” he said, watching his teammates file in, Spencer’s trademark haphazard scribblings taking up the wall behind him, “and I’ve been tracking her for months.” 

The first question comes from Derek Morgan, a man he has begun to revere more as a brother and less of a colleague, a breach of professionality he keeps to himself, “All this time, man? I thought we agreed this case was cold – there’s been almost no new activity in _years –"_

“- I know! I know there hasn’t been, which is why I didn’t tell anyone, it didn’t seem,” he shakes his head, before straightening up, “she called me last night, and all I could hear was tapping. Morse Code. She asked me if I wanted to play a game.” There’s a pause, and if he were better at this, better at this part of the job, Spencer’d be able to hide his excitement, the flexing and unflexing of his hands in anticipation.

“A game of the sexy variety, or of the Saw III, cut-you-up-in-bits-and-make-you-put-yourself-together, variety?” there’s a pause when Penelope makes this suggestion, followed by a snort from Derek, “I just don’t think our insurance, which I’m grateful for, covers falling into a pit of needles, sweet cheeks.”

“What do we know? What’s changed?” Emily sits, leaning elbows against knees.

“Well, we know she targets wealthy, older men, often men that have committed crimes authorities don’t know about yet.” Spencer begins, “Rape, sex trafficking, the whole boogeyman-in-the-boardroom thing. She poisons them – homemade, impossible to replicate as it’s already dissolved before we arrive at the scene, - and leaves a single white rose in her wake. It’s almost remorseful, like she’s sorry she had to do this because we couldn’t.” That's the part of the job that stays with him the most - not what he _has_ done, but what he could've done. Raking himself against the coals was his favourite pastime. 

“And last night she reached out to _you?_ There’s a game, what game?” JJ asks, hand running over half-awake face. She wonders, privately, why dangerous women always found themselves drawn to Spencer. It’s not like she doesn’t see what they see – he’s smart, attractive, - but she has a feeling his innocence is what they’re after. Corrupting it. Taking it for themselves. And Spencer had it in droves, in his walk, hidden in the corners of his smile, tucked in his shirt pocket in case a member of the team needed it - he wore innocence like a badge, proud and visible. She wonders where she lost hers. 

“I don’t know yet – but she left this,” he picks it up from the table, a single white rose. “I didn’t bother bagging it because we've established she doesn’t leave anything behind, I’m sorry,” an inhale, “with an address, a time, a place. It’s a restaurant. She’s requested I come alone, unarmed, or she’ll vanish again. She said she has a present.” Spencer holds the piece of cardstock up, allowing the group to glance at the swoops and falls, the heart at the bottom of the letter. It’s romantic, seductive – it’s the exact kind of fantasy Spencer spent his whole life trying not to get caught up in. And here it was, in neat writing, calling to him. Asking him to wander down the rabbit hole.

Lesser men have died for more. Better men had died for less.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave me your thoughts, and i hope you enjoyed the prologue!


End file.
